deux: good morning

Richard had life in his step, an epiphany every time his foot touched the concrete. He felt good, loved the air in his lungs, the body he was in, the beautiful morning.

The immense pain continued to break his head open, and he could almost the cold air flowing in to take up space in his skull. Icy fingers, sheathed in thin latex, gently lay themselves on his temples. They felt like sledgehammers, and he inhaled frigid air through clenched teeth, catching someone’s attention.

“Stevens, what are you doing?”

“Whoa, relax, man. I barely tapped him."

"Looks like the drugs have been doing their work. Knock you out for twelve hours, wake up with a hangover from hell."

The sun had moved up over the apartment buildings. Flexing stiff fingers, Richard grabbed the lapels of his suit jacket, and, pulling them back, eased it off of his shoulders. He was sure that the shirt underneath was stained with last night’s excursions, with panicked sweat and blood, his and other’s, and fear. None of that mattered. He dropped the jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves, letting the morning sunlight warm up his skin.

“Does this mean he’s awake?”

“Who knows? I saw his eyes open, but it’s highly unlikely that can see anything- this lamp must be like a floodlight to him”

Walking past a nightclub, Richard glanced into a car parked right in front. The wasted individual inside was just beginning to react to the newly risen sun beating down on his eyelids. Just before his steps had taken him too far, he saw the young man slump over, not enough energy in his body to turn his head away.

“You’re sure your ‘operation’ isn’t gonna kill the guy?”

“Are you doubting my abilities?”

“No.”

“I’m fairly sure.”

un: good morning

The sun peeked over the apartments on the other side of the street, its light bright and clean. Richard Gabourel stepped out of the imposing brick building, let the heavy fire doors swing behind him, and smiled at the sky. He could just picture the day outlining his torn, ragged suit, exposing the bruises and dried blood to the world.

Cool air, bright, vibrant existence, it was all so different from the nightmare that ended for good with the heavy click of the doors shutting. Not caring where he went, he began an easy, confident walk right. Flashes of memory would fill up his vision occasionally, as if his brain refused to let him forget it.

He woke up to the harsh, burning glare of a fluorescent bulb above him. It took him almost a minute to realize that he was lying down. Almost two more had elapsed before the realization that he was strapped down dawned on him.

“Is he awake?”

The voice scratched his ears, not because it was rough or grating, but because all of his senses were on edge. A pain so intense, so overwhelming split the top of his head that he thought he would pass out. He clenched his eyes tight and bit down hard, the muscles beneath his cheeks tightening with the pressure.

Walking past a coffee shop, Richard caught the curious and worried glances and stares from many of the patrons; eyes peering over newspapers or pupils leaning far left while the face stared straight ahead. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what he looked like- but he felt amazing.

A park appeared across the street to his left, and he watched as children clambered over the twisted green jungle gym, their high-pitched voices shrieking with joy. Parents both cautious and otherwise occupied sat on the benches on either side; some with their hands loosely clasped before them, never looking away from their offspring, and others chatting with friends, seemingly ignoring the fact that their children were hanging from the bars with their legs, trying to pick up their Hot Wheels cars in the sand.